


The Purple Pansy

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, long time manservant, unexpectedly finds himself without a young master. Draco Malfoy, a long time young master, annoyingly finds himself without a manservant. And The Orient Express is departing from Paris to Constantinople.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purple Pansy

**Author's Note:**

> **Location(s):** Paris to Istanbul  
>  **Era:** AU (around the year 1900)  
>  **Scenario:** Harry and Draco both travel on the Orient Express (Paris to Istanbul). At least one of them didn't know that the other will be on board as well.  
>  **Prompt submitted by:** joan_waterhouse  
>  **Author's Notes:** This was a prompt that I claimed back in 2010, but then life got busy and I didn’t finish it. This seemed a good opportunity to try and do just that. Extreme thanks and gratitude go to and and for their excellent beta assistance.

Harry sat on his small valise utterly dejected, and wondering just exactly what he was supposed to do now. 

The current Mrs Zabini, formerly Pansy Parkinson’s voice rang shrilly in his memory. The tears had streamed down her angry, red face as she begged, “Out! Get him out of here, now!” He’d never thought her a tearful woman. Prone to histrionics, yes, but more of the hex-your-bollocks-off, than the weeping kind. Fortunately for Harry the train was just pulling into the station. He’d at least have somewhere to go. 

Oh, she’d been plenty angry at first, but it had turned to lady-like tears the moment Blaise managed to remove his mouth from Harry’s cock. Blaise had turned to defend himself, begging her forgiveness. As if there was any defense for being caught in the act of blowing your manservant. No matter what circles one ran in, or how modern one claimed to be, it just wasn’t the acceptable thing. 

Harry sighed again. He tried to tell Blaise it wasn’t a good time or place. Blaise however, like his mother, was determined to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and consequences be damned; except, apparently, the unhappiness of his new bride weeping into her lace and linen handkerchief. 

Blaise had followed Pansy out of the train car. Harry didn’t blame him, she was his wife. Harry was all tucked back in and buttoned when Blaise returned and told him to pack his belongings and leave. His employment with the Zambini family had reached an end. 

So here Harry was, just arrived at the _Gare De L’est_ where he had been scheduled along with Blaise, his master, and his new bride, Pansy, to board the Orient Express to Constantinople. The train was scheduled to depart this afternoon, and Harry would not be on it. 

Constantinople -- the word sang in his ears. How he’d long wished to visit the city that stood at the isthmus between east and west. The grandeur of the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia, the scents of the Grand Market, the sounds of the faithful being called to Morning Prayer, they all beckoned him to the ancient city. Now what was he supposed to do?

“I am sorry,” a voice above Harry’s head interrupted his thoughts. He’d recognized the smooth, sultry tones of that voice anywhere. Harry looked up into the thin, aristocratic face of his ex -employer and longtime lover. Blaise’s amber eyes showed more brown than usual. 

Harry shrugged. What else could he do? “Please, don’t distress yourself sir, it’s all right. One does understand why the lady of the house would be disturbed at what she happened upon. ” 

“I should have listened to you. You did try to warn me.” He flashed Harry a quick smile, his teeth a brilliant white against his dark skin. “What are your plans now?”

Yes, you should have, Harry thought but instead said, “I’ve no idea. Go home, I guess.”

“But you can’t! I know how much you wanted to make this journey, see the sights along the way. You’ve talked of nothing else since it was first mentioned.” 

“I’m not going to argue with you, I was very much looking forward to it. Perhaps, I’ll have another opportunity in the future.” 

“No. You’re going to take that trip now. You may never get another chance. Your servant’s pass is already paid for. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t use it.” At Harry’s expression, he sighed. “I’ll find a way to explain it to Pansy. I’ll tell her it was too late to get a refund on the ticket. Who knows, it could be the truth and you know how she hates the idea of me spending money on anything other than her.” Harry didn’t know; he’d done his best to avoid all contact with Miss Parkinson as much as possible prior to the wedding. 

“If you’re sure that’s what you desire, sir. I’ll be most grateful for the opportunity. Although I doubt my limited funds will allow me many of the travel excursions we had previously planned.” 

“Again Harry, I’m really sorry. It’s just that you looked so bloody gorgeous coming down the plank off the ferry, your cheeks red and glowing from the wind and sun, hair curling wildly around your face. The moisture from the Channel that fogged your glasses slowly clearing and those damn expressive eyes of your flashing with excitement…” He paused unable to continue. 

“Yes, sir. No one is to blame. I desired you just as much, sir. Now, you should return before your wife decides you’ve been gone entirely too long and comes looking for you, again.” 

“Good bye, Harry.”

“Good bye, sir.” Harry’s voice trembled. Blaise had been a commendable employer. He’d not only understood Harry’s particular needs and desires, but shared in them as well. Besides, without his job as manservant for Blaise, Harry no longer had an excuse not to marry Ginevra Weasley.

Harry cared for her, very much. She was bright and funny and attractive, and played a brilliant game of Quidditch. But marriage? Not in this life time, not if he could help it. How and why he’d allowed his best mate Ron Weasley and the rest of the Weasleys to believe that Harry would soon be part of their family, Harry wasn’t sure. But somehow it was commonly believed that he and Ginny had 'an understanding'. 

“Oh, and Harry...” 

His thoughts were interrupted by Blaise, whom he’d thought had already left. 

“One last thing. You can keep the ticket, but it’s a servant’s ticket. You’ll have to find someone else to serve before they check your ticket in Strasbourg. You could be detained for possible fraud if you’re not gainfully employed.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” He stood and gave a short bow. “Will that be all, sir?” At Blaise’s nod, Harry turned and slowly walked away. He’d always found good-byes to be hard. This one was no exception.

***

Harry spent the next three days enjoying as many of the sights as he could in the time allowed and with the small amount of money he had. He debated skimping on his time in Paris so he’d have the financial means to see and do more on the journey to Constantinople. He firmly put that thought aside. He was in Paris, the most romantic city in the world. The _Exposition Universalle_ of 1900 was only a few years old and hew planned on seeing every exhibit and building that still remained, in addition to the other more well known buildings. So many things for him to see; some of them so magnificent, Harry knew they had to be of Wizarding origins.

The Eiffel Tower, barely a decade in age, beautiful and delicate in its industrial way, might claim to be the architectural marvel of a Muggle, but Harry couldn’t imagine its completion without the use of a few spells. Gustave Eiffel’s spell work was subtle, but Harry had recognised it just the same. Lace made of metal; Harry had been astounded by the Tower’s elegant beauty with just one viewing. He would have loved nothing more than to spend every afternoon as the reflection of the setting sun turned its appearance to a coppery gold in the distance. There simply wasn’t enough time. 

The purser having overheard Harry and Blaise, and understanding Harry’s predicament, had come to his aid. He’d informed Harry that the ticket Blaise had purchased for him was indeed non-refundable, but for a small fee it could be changed to another day. Harry had gladly paid the fee and changed his departure date. 

The purser also helped him find a small and inexpensive pension for the time he was there. Nothing fancy, it was just a small bedsit, with the use of a community washroom on the ground floor, and an outhouse around the back. Located in 13th Arrondissement it was clean and airy and the landlady served the most marvelous croissants with piping cups of Café au lait. Madame Le Clair, reminiscent of Molly Weasley, thought Harry too thin and did her best to fatten him up. 

For ten Francs a night, he got all of this, plus the addition of Alain, the helpful purser, to keep him warm and snug in the evenings. 

Paris was a city that should be shared with the one you love. Alain had been delightful and given to a fondness for strenuous activity in the bedroom, but Harry was not in love with him. 

Harry’s time in the French capital came to an end too soon; he vowed he’d return one day. A job at the Ministry or at Hogwarts would guarantee his ability to afford it, and either or both had been promised to him, if he so desired. But a steady job would only push him even further towards supposed wedded bliss. Something he wanted to avoid as long as possible. Harry knew he’d most likely marry at some point; it was, after all, what one did. He’d marry, move to a quaint cottage in the country and have a passel of children. He didn’t mind the country bit. Godric’s Hollow, the place he was born, had a special place in his heart; he would enjoy living there. He’d always wanted children. He just wished all that could be done without a wife.

***

The hustle and bustle increased around him. People chattering and laughing as they welcomed loved ones home. Tears and sorrow from those who were saying goodbye to those that were leaving. They all reminded Harry of Victoria Station. The Golden Arrow had brought them from there to Dover. They’d taken the ferry across the Channel to Calais. The ferry had been exhilarating, and partially to blame for Harry’s current state of unemployment. _No future in thinking about that now_. Languages from every corner of Europe could be heard, French, for obvious reasons, the most prevalent.

The three days Harry had spent in Paris with Alain had vastly improved his French. Although it still could not compare with his Italian, a requirement for employment with the Zabini family. Signora Zabini, not a native Italian, refused any other language to be spoken in her presence. If Harry wanted Blaise's allowance to include Harry's services, he had to learn Italian. It was a beautiful and passionate language and Harry had not protested. 

Some distance from him, Harry could hear someone speaking elegant and flawless French, with just the slightest hint of British accent. The voice sounded familiar, Harry was sure he should be able to place it. He tried, without success for several moments, finally giving it up as a bad cause. Surely there was no one he knew that spoke French that fluently.

“But, Monsieur, you must board. The train will be departing soon. All of the passengers must be on board and in their compartments.” 

“I’m most sorry, but I seem to have misplaced my man. I could not possibly be expected to travel alone. Please, just a few more moments, if you wouldn’t mind.” The words were perfectly polite and posh, but they carried, as well, the undercurrent of haughtiness and surliness that only the very rich could manage. 

“But Monsieur the Orient Express is known for its punctuality. It is never late, only because it always leaves the station when it is scheduled, not even one minute later.” 

“Could you please check the list one more time to verify that a Gregory Goyle, valet for Draco Malfoy, has not already boarded?” The surliness now even more pronounced. 

_Malfoy?_ Harry stilled. Mrs Zabini, the former Miss Parkinson, had mentioned that their friend Draco Malfoy was to be journeying on a later train out of Paris. He too was heading to Constantinople. Harry understood they’d made plans to meet in the Turkish capitol and spend a few weeks touring the various sights before returning home. Draco Malfoy’s continuing plans, Harry did not know. 

Harry turned in time to see the flash of pale hair as it boarded the train. A flush of desire heated his blood. Draco Malfoy, the most elegant, gorgeous and annoying wizard to have shared the halls of Hogwarts with Harry, was going to be on the same train as Harry for the next sixty-seven hours. Harry’s hopes for this trip and its possible outcome had just improved beyond his wildest fantasies. 

An “All Aboard,” from the porter, the loud, piercing whistle of the engine starting, the clackety clack of the wheels as the train started to move on the rails, woke Harry from his brief but full blown fantasy of kneeling in front of Malfoy and loosening the buttons of his worsted wool trousers. Fuck! The train was about to leave without him. Quickly tossing his valise on to the slowly moving train, Harry caught hold of the railing and pulled himself on board.

They headed east out of town, and within twenty minutes, they were passing through the suburbs of Paris. Harry would miss its elegant townhouses, the wide streets, and the sidewalk cafes that allowed him time to sit and dream, as well the animated ladies with their shopping bags of baguettes on their way home to prepare the evening meal. All were memories he would carry with him on the rest of his journey.

***

The door to the servant’s compartment was unlocked. The other valets all occupied in the task of unpacking their master’s belongings, Harry had the place to himself. He found a safe location to stow his valise and then sat on one of the wooden bench type seats. Unlike the arrangements for upper class, where there were usually two berths per compartment, occasionally four, the servant’s quarters held up to eight people at a time. Sleep would not come easy here.

Of course, if things went the way Harry hoped they would, he would not share this space with others for long. Harry had no doubt, getting employed as Malfoy’s valet, at least for part of the journey, would not be a hardship. Someone of Draco Malfoy’s social standing could not be expected to care for himself on such a long journey, even a wizard of his abilities. It was simply up to Harry to convince Malfoy that he, Harry, was the one for the job. 

Was Malfoy traveling with anyone else? Harry wondered. Malfoy had conversed only with the porter, and had mentioned no other names other than Gregory Goyle. He had clearly said, “I”, not “We,” could not expect to travel alone. Had Miss Parkinson, no, the new Mrs Zabini mentioned if anyone else was traveling with him? Harry's memory of that discussion was slim. He had tended to pay little attention when she spoke. He’d heard no rumours of Malfoy being engaged, or having taken a wife. If there was a companion of any sort, Harry was unaware of what their relationship would be. 

Harry leaned back in the seat and rested his eyes. Malfoy dressed in a grey morning suit with a pale blue waistcoat captured his imagination. The easy rocking of the train drove Harry’s fantasy as he envisioned helping Malfoy to disrobe, dreaming of the alabaster smooth skin that he knew he would discover. The nipples pale, pink, and barely noticeable until Harry’s focused attention had them reddened and rigid. His continued fantasy showed him slipping the braces off Malfoy’s shoulders, causing the trousers to slip an inch or so down those slender hips. Harry moved to stand close enough to Malfoy to feel his breath against his cheeks, as Harry unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, one button at a time. 

Harry’s mouth watered at the thought of what he would find encased in the silk pants he was sure Malfoy would be wearing. His own trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight, and his desire was damp against his own, more practical cotton pants. He wondered how long he’d have before his privacy would be interrupted by the other valets finding their way to the compartment. Everything would have to be unpacked and put away before they would be excused. If the other servants had the skills Harry possessed, it would be sooner than he desired. Harry was an exceptional valet. 

Notwithstanding his more intimate and personal attention he gave to those he worked for, the years of living with his aunt and uncle had taught him how to provide service for others. Vernon Dursley had required Harry to not only make sure his top hat was brushed to perfection each morning, but also to be sure his boots were kept waterproofed and blacked as well, before he left the house for the Little Winging Wool Emporium. Harry’s evening hours had included even more chores for all members of the Dursley family. He was both, cook and maid, as well as butler and valet. The Dursley’s never saw a need to hire anyone for these jobs. Why would they, when they had Harry. 

Harry’d just decided that there might be time for a quick polish of his now throbbing knob before the others returned and began to settle themselves in. He had barely begun to work open the buttons of his trousers when the door opened. Luckily, his back was toward the door. Rapidly readjusting and making sure all was fastened and secured, he turned to greet the newcomer. A gentleman, just a few years older than Harry stood in the doorway. 

He and Harry exchanged pleasantries. As was common when those in the serving class got together, the first things shared were the names of their employers. As Harry was currently not in service, he was unable to share any information regarding his current situation. He chose to remain silent. The gentleman, whose name was Elphias Doge, explained that he was traveling with a Bathilda Bagshot, as her personal assistant. 

Harry’s ears perked up at the name Bathilda Bagshot. It was a name Professor Dumbledore, Gryffindor’s head of house, had mentioned during some of his conversations with Harry. There had also been Hermione’s verbal dissertation on the brilliance of the Bagshot woman. Supposedly some sort of historian, her papers were due to be put into a textbook for future Hogwarts students. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry asked. “Are you also perhaps a friend of Professor Albus Dumbledore?” If he was, then he was more than likely a wizard as well, and Harry would be able to relax around at least one other person. 

“Albus Dumbledore? Why he’s one of my oldest and dearest friends. It was he who first put the desire to travel and see the world in my mind. Unfortunately, events transpired that kept us from making the Grand Tourney we had once planned.” He beamed at Harry, much the same way Professor Dumbledore beamed at Harry when he’d mastered a particularly difficult transformation. “You, of course, must be Harry Potter.” 

Surprised, Harry drew back. “Yes, sir, how did you know?’

“Albus speaks most highly of you. We still manage to meet and share a few Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. Great wizard, Albus; I see a magnificent future in front of him. Terrible thing what happened between him and that Grindelwald person. Professor Bagshot feels just horrible having been the one to introduce them.” He paused and shook his head from side to side slowly, a frown on his face. “I don’t know that Albus is over it yet. You’re the valet of the Zabinis’, are you not?” He asked, quickly changing the subject, “I’m afraid I missed seeing their name on the passenger list.” 

Harry stared. Had Professor Dumbledore really talked about him that much? At last he found his voice again. “No, sir, they left three days ago.”

“Without their manservant? That’s most illogical. Why would they do such a thing?” 

“I’m no longer in their employment.” 

“No longer-- Well, I must, say that’s most irregular. Have you made new arrangements for this journey?” 

Harry shrugged. 

The other man was silent for a moment and turned towards Harry. “You are aware that you cannot be on this train without employment or proof of having paid the full price before we reach Strasbourg, are you not?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Miss Bagshot could probably be convinced to take you on as an assistant’s assistant. Especially once she realises who you are.” 

Harry’s fantasy of the weight of Malfoy's cock resting heavily on Harry’s tongue, his scent filling Harry’s nostrils and his fingers stroking Harry’s skin, disappeared like fog in the morning sun. Only to be replaced with the nightmare of sixty-seven hours of non-stop lectures on the History of Hogwarts. Fearful that all his desires of the past few years and his plans to make them come true were about to be blown up in his face, Harry spoke suddenly. “I believe I can make other arrangements; it is very kind of you to offer.”

“Well, if the other doesn’t work out, perhaps you will remember this offer.” Mr Doge then exclaimed in what appeared to be genuine pleasure at a thought he’d obviously just had. “You know, I saw Mr Malfoy earlier. He happened to mention he was in need of a valet. His current man-servant, a Gregory Goyle, somehow managed to miss the train. You’re familiar with Mr Malfoy, are you not?”

As he was talking, Mr Doge continued to constantly shrink or return to full size several of his personal belongings, depending on what he needed at the time. Harry kept glancing nervously at the compartment door, concerned that it would open and a Muggle would enter. 

“Don’t worry son, I’ve set an advance warning charm. Look, there it goes now.” He stopped all magic and nodded his head toward the door frame. If Harry had not just been made aware there was a charm, he would never have noticed. The frame around the door darkened and dulled in comparison with the door itself. The charm was subtle and quite clever. Harry nodded his approval to Mr Doge. 

“Perhaps Mr Malfoy might take you on as his manservant. At least until he reaches his destination. Although it is my understanding that you and Mr Malfoy were not exceptionally close. Albus went so far as to say that once he feared leaving the two of you alone, for dread of what he’d find upon his return,” he said, chuckling. 

Harry grinned at him. “That’s true, we weren’t. Close that is. I’m hoping we can put all that behind us. He needs a valet; I need someone to be in service to. Perhaps we can see this as a win for both of us.” Harry smiled his thanks and turned to begin his preparations for what he was calling, ‘Operation Malfoy’.

***

Harry waited under the invisibility cloak until Malfoy left his private sleeper. A whispered _”Alohomara”_ unlocked the door, and he slipped inside. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared. Neatness must come naturally to Malfoy. Even without magic, which to Harry’s mind simply did not convey the level of personal touch a true manservant would provide, he’d still be able to properly clean the compartment and care for Malfoy’s personal items in the time he had.

The first evening’s dinner scheduled to be a long and luxurious affair; Harry knew he should have plenty of time. He also knew not to risk dallying, in case Malfoy returned to his quarters early.

First he checked the clothing hanging in the wardrobe for any stains, rips, tears, or missing buttons. Only the keen eye of an experienced valet would have caught the few there were. Still Harry was surprised that Malfoy had allowed them. Goyle’s position was obviously one of favour not of skill. Harry repaired what he could by hand, the rest with a quick “ _Reparo_ ”. As he went about his task, Harry inhaled the fresh scent emanating from Malfoy’s clothing. Crisp and clean, it reminded Harry of what he’d always imagined the Alps would smell like. A stiff clothes brush and a firm hand freed every item of Malfoy’s clothing of all lint and any loose dirt and hairs. 

Harry paid especial attention to the hats on the top shelf. Malfoy, it appeared, preferred the curled brim bowler to the top hat. Some water and a wave of his wand, and he’d reset the brim into a perfect circumference of curl. The one top hat was brushed with the same firm hand as the clothing had been. 

The special polish Harry had used to great effect on Blaise’s Cordoba leather shoes, and an advanced concentration of good old fashioned elbow grease, soon had Draco’s dragon hide boots polished to a high gloss. Harry wondered absently, as he checked and rechecked for any section he may have missed. If the dragon hide boots were here, what footwear had Malfoy worn to dinner? 

He stepped back and examined his handiwork. Everything in Malfoy’s wardrobe looked as if it had just come from the tailors. Nothing was out of place, needed any adjustments, or additional cleaning. 

The more personal items were next on the list to be taken care of. The compartment itself would be the last cleaning he would complete. If he ran out of time, he knew he could always cast a charm to clean and polish it. Though, he much preferred doing it the non-magical way. 

Doge had shown him the spell for the advance warning. Harry would easily be able to know when Malfoy was nearing his compartment. Setting the spell to register for Malfoy only had been a bit tricky, but he’d managed. The thought of it going off any time someone randomly approached the compartment -- Harry knew it would have driven him around the bend, as well as making him most unproductive.

Realizing his time was growing short; Harry glanced quickly at the door; the framing around the door had darkened since he’d looked just seconds before. Bollocks! Malfoy was coming.

Harry hurriedly cast a last minute, but thorough cleaning charm. . Everything was spotless. He was just starting to relax when voices outside the door made him stop and listen. The steward was apologizing for having been unable to enter the compartment and prepare it for sleeping. Harry cursed under his breath. The one thing, that even a Muggle steward could manage, Harry had forgotten. Seconds later Malfoy’s daytime accommodations had been converted into a bed, with the most luxurious of fittings, as were provided for all the full paying passengers. Harry also turned down the bedding, as he’d done every night while in Blaise’s employment. 

It was important for Draco to know the duties had been performed by someone other than the steward, most likely a wizard. Let him ponder on which wizard it was. Harry planned to reveal himself later. He just wasn’t sure when or how. 

Harry slipped the transparent cloak over his head and released the locking spell. The panel door slid open. He plastered himself against the opposite wall, making himself as unnoticeable as possible, in the small space. The last thing he wanted was for either Malfoy or the steward to trip over him. 

Malfoy and the steward stepped into the room. Draco looked -- well, Harry wasn’t sure what -- confused, perturbed, surprised, pleased, suspicious -- all of the above?

“I thought you said you were unable to gain entry?” Malfoy questioned the steward. 

“I couldn’t. I don’t understand.” The steward shook his head, looking around the room in confusion. 

“Well, someone obviously was able to, as the bed has clearly been prepared and turned down as well. Perhaps the intoxicating nectar of cheap wine called you to sample it earlier than you should have.”

“No, sir. I never! I don’t drink, sir, not at all. I don’t understand this. ”

Harry felt mildly uncomfortable for what he’d just put the steward through. In addition he’d probably just lessened the amount of potential tip the steward would receive. If this plan worked as well as Harry hoped it would, he’d gladly pay the man a most extravagant tip himself. 

Draco turned slowly around the space, examining the small compartment carefully. He opened the wardrobe; his eyes narrowing when he saw the condition of his clothing. Harry warranted Malfoy found them much improved than they’d been when he’d left them two hours ago. Draco went straight to the morning coat that had had a loose button. A needle and thread and Harry’s skills with both had set it right. Draco tugged at the button, and a smile appeared on his face when he discovered it firmly attached. He returned the coat and shut the wardrobe door. 

“You may leave. I’m not sure what has happened, but as everything seems to be in place, I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned about.” 

The middle-aged, and balding, steward bowed low and then departed. 

Draco leaned against the door, locking it after the steward’s exit. “I’m not sure if you’re still here, but I strongly suspect a wizard of powerful magical ability. As well, the knowledge and experience to ascertain what needs to be done regarding a gentleman’s clothing, and the know how to do it. Let’s not forget the possession and obvious use of an invisibility cloak, in order to gain entry without being seen.” 

Draco slowly unbuttoned his formal suit coat, lowering it from his shoulders, followed by the waistcoat. He promptly hung them both on the front of the wardrobe. “Since I’m assuming you did all of this to prove your abilities as a valuable manservant, I suspect you can brush these clean before they are next needed.” The linen shirt remained tucked into his trousers, which were held in place by a pair of braces. Malfoy turned towards where Harry was hiding. It was the one corner in the small space that was large enough for a man to stand. Draco slipped his thumbs under the suspenders and pulled them down off his shoulders. The trousers immediately slid a few inches down the slender hips. 

Harry stood speechless. His mouth, which had been dry as the desert, overflowed with a flood of saliva. 

“If you’re still here, perhaps this will serve as a thank you until you choose to reveal yourself. If you’re not still here, I’m talking to myself and my pretend visit to Sigmund Freud may be necessary after all.” He chuckled as he pulled one end of his bow tie and it came loose, hanging around his pale, slender neck. 

“Before I continue, I should go and take care of my evening absolutions. I’ve some reading to do before I turn in; I’m not fond of walking down the hall once I’ve prepared myself for bed. As to why that idiot Goyle booked me a compartment without the facilities en suite, I’ll never know. I’m sure you would never make a mistake like that.” Draco looked around the small space as if he expected to be able to see Harry. Of course, he couldn’t. The cloak did its job; Harry remained hidden.

Malfoy grabbed his tooth powder and tooth brush, and his soap powder. With that he slipped out the door. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He looked around the compartment for some final thing he could so. Something that would let Draco know he had still been there. He spied a water carafe and a glass on a small shelf. Harry extended the shelf and set a cooling charm to the water. Ice cold water filled the glass. Just before he left he transfigured a small piece of grass he’d found on Draco’s boots into a fresh pansy, placing it in the center of Draco’s pillow. There was no way Draco would miss it. 

Harry slipped out the compartment. He’d done all he could. If Malfoy didn’t make the connection with the clue Harry had just left him, the next morning and claim Harry as his manservant, Harry’s time on the Orient Express would be at an end.

***

The next morning, for the first time in over fifteen years, The Orient Express did not leave the Strasbourg Station on time. Instead it lingered at the station while the authorities tried to determine the employer of one Harry Potter. His servant’s ticket said Blaise Zabini, but the Zabini family was not on the passenger list, nor could they be found. If the correct party was not found soon, he would be removed from the train, by force if necessary.

Through it all, Harry remained silent. Someone else would have to be the one to mention Malfoy’s name. It would not be Harry--it couldn’t be him. If this was going to work, Malfoy had to claim him, himself. Mr Doge made constant motions to Harry, indicating he should do, or say, something, anything, to save himself. Doge finally must have realised that Harry had no intention of saying a word. He winked at Harry and cleared his throat.

“I believe he has been performing the duties of manservant to a Mr Draco Malfoy, whom, if you’ll check your records, boarded without his usual servant, a Mr Gregory Goyle. Perhaps you should check with him to see if this is true,” Doge said to the head steward and the border patrol. 

Moments later, a much disheveled Draco Malfoy appeared onto the platform, a Japanese style kimono loosely tied around him, and sparing no one his displeasure at being disturbed at 5am. That was the Malfoy Harry recognized and, if truth be told, found very entertaining, when he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of Malfoy’s wrath. Malfoy cursed anyone and everyone who had ever thought of riding a train, including the engineer, the head steward and those watching the current drama unfold. 

Malfoy turned the corner and his gaze fell immediately onto Harry. He stopped and stared. Harry nodded at him, and then bent down to gently breathe in the aroma of the purple pansy he had tucked into his own lapel, just as the authorities had entered the servants’ car and demanded everyone’s papers. Draco’s eyes widened, then surprisingly, he winked at Harry. “Potter my dear man, where have you been? What kind of trouble have you got yourself into now?”

Malfoy turned towards the officials, and turned the Malfoy charm on them as he did. “I apologise. Has my manservant caused a problem?”

“We’re so sorry to have had to bother you, but his papers say he is the servant for the Zabini family, and they are not on board. There is nothing about you in his official papers. It is mandatory that anyone who is on board at the servants’ rate be attached to a full fare passenger.”

“Well, of course he is attached to a full fare passenger; did I not just say he was my manservant? Also is not the pansy in his lapel the same as the one in my compartment you just left? Obviously he brought both of them with him when he came on board.”

Draco turned back towards Harry. “I told you we should have taken care of the paper work as soon as we boarded. The documentation that transferred your service from the Zabini family to me should have been turned over immediately.” He held out his hand to Harry. “Give me those papers we’ll take care of that right now.”

Immediately, Malfoy turned away, placing his arm around the shoulders of one of the officials, whispering confidentially. “Sometimes even the best help has to be reminded of the proper way to take care of things. I really do apologise for any inconvenience.” Harry used those few seconds to rapidly transfigure a scrap of paper he’d found in his pocket into the appropriate documents. 

Harry stood perfectly still while Draco, the Border patrol and the train captain went inside a small office on the station’s platform. By this time, most everyone else had returned to their own compartments. Only Harry and Elphias Doge remained.

Moments later Draco emerged from the office, a solemn look on his face. “Come Potter; I need to return to bed; you can ready my clothes for later.” Under his breath, he whispered in Harry’s ear as they climbed back on to the train. “I’m not sure what you’re up to, but my clothes have never been in as good a shape since I first brought them home. I’m in full agreement with you being my valet. I suspect it may become a full time position if you’ve an interest.” 

As they boarded, Harry noticed Doge had not joined them. He held out his hand to Dumbledore’s friend and helped him on board. Draco spared a glance at Doge, clearly confused, then shrugged and returned to his stateroom, Harry trailing along behind him.

They entered Draco’s compartment. “I wasn’t lying, I am returning to bed. I was up very late reading as I believe I had mentioned last night. Other activities, with your face and other parts of you as the focus, also kept me awake late into the night.” He winked at Harry who swallowed nervously as Draco removed the silk Japanese dressing gown. Under it was a nightshirt of the finest muslin. Before Harry had been able to see his fill, Draco had slipped between silken sheets, but his nipples had shown rosy pink underneath the fine material.

“You can sleep in the top bunk. Just be careful not to disturb me while lowering it, or while climbing into it.” As Malfoy was rolling away from him, Harry heard him say. “You’re on top, a place I understand from Blaise you manage with great success.

While shaving Draco later that morning, late as they had both slept through breakfast, Harry was somewhat surprised when Mr Malfoy began speaking, while Harry held a straight edged razor to his throat. 

“Do you mind my asking why you are no longer in the Zabini family’s employment?” 

“I was requested to leave their service,” Harry paused, unsure how much information he should share, “by the newest Mrs Zabini.” 

Draco’s eyebrow shot up. “I take it she caught her brand new husband occupied with someone other than herself.” 

“I really couldn’t say, sir.”

“Can’t or won’t? I’m quite sure you could, as I’ve no doubt it was your cock Blaise had his mouth wrapped around. Never was a cock he could resist, especially when it’s attached to someone as savory as you.” Draco chuckled and relaxed back against the chair.

Harry blanched, then felt himself redden. The half erection he’d been sporting since around 5:30 that morning at the sight of those rose coloured nipples grew fully erect. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

He made to move around to the side, but Draco caught his wrist. He looked pointedly at the bulge in Harry’s well fitted trousers. “Oh, please, Potter. I too, am a member of the Redburn Club. Blaise and I go way back. You may have noticed, he has a bit of a tendency to chatter when under the influence of a few glasses of good Irish Whisky. Not to mention when my tongue has been plaguing his arse for twenty minutes, and I’m withholding further action unless he tells all.” 

Harry whimpered. Blaise had loved his arse buggered and eaten, but didn’t care to reciprocate. Harry could do without being buggered, he’d never cared much for the bottom role, but from the sounds Blaise made while Harry’s tongue was in him, it must be quite the sensation. The pleasure of the experience had never been Harry’s; he’d always longed for the chance.

“I know Blaise could be somewhat of a selfish fuck. I think you’ll find I’m quite willing to share the pleasure with those that have pleased me.” He pulled Harry’s hand forward and ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of Harry’s palm, waking Harry’s cock even more. If he couldn’t take care of a certain matter, and soon, Harry was quite confident he was going to combust. 

Draco’s mouth was still moving; Harry tried to focus on what he was saying. “I appreciate your confidentiality. I respect that in an employee. I trust you’ll do the same for me.”

Harry nodded rapidly. “Of course, sir. You’re secrets are safe with me.”

“And for that, I promise you a well-deserved reward.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair and allowed Harry to complete the shaving. After a splash of aftershave, Draco opened his eyes and held Harry’s gaze. “Besides I’m sure the lovely Miss Weasley and her family, including Mr Ronald Weasley, would be most interested in discovering the real reason you’ve not yet married her.”

Panic overcame Harry, surely Malfoy would not tell. He himself had just admitted to having the same predilections as Harry; he wouldn’t dare take a chance on exposing himself. Would he? Harry snapped his head up. There it was; the small twinkle in the soft grey of Draco’s eyes. 

“Potter, I’m not going to tell. You know your secrets are safe with me.” 

“Indeed, sir.” Then yelped, less like a dignified and highly trained manservant, and more like a small child whose hand been caught in the biscuit tin, when Draco grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his lap. 

Draco shifted positions and Harry felt the rigid hardness under his thigh. Harry turned and faced him. Was this really going to happen?

Draco moved his head forward towards Harry and Harry did the same. Draco’s lips met his. The kiss was soft and chaste. They both pulled back then came back together, mouths open, tongues reaching out to explore.

Malfoy’s kisses were avenues of discovery. Exciting and passionate one moment, gentle and tender the next. He led Harry on a merry chase of adventure. Such that Harry had failed to realise that his very well tied-tie, had been loosened and Draco was now pulling one of the ends for it to slip out of Harry’s collar. Draco’s fingers deftly unfastening the mother of pearl buttons of Harry’s well starched shirt. 

For all his fantasies and dreams of imagination, Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to take this to next level, just yet. He pulled back—just a fraction—but it was enough.

Draco looked steadily at him. “We’ve got a little under three days left, until this train reaches Constantinople, and I’d love to spend those days getting to know you—all of you—much better.” He said nothing else just continued his steady gaze. 

As he spoke, Draco's hands slowly smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in Harry’s shirt, caressing his chest as he did. His fingers grazed Harry’s nipples raising them to rigid peaks.

Harry moaned in response. _What was he thinking?_ He was where he wanted to be, about to do what he wanted to do and with the person he’d dreamed of doing it with. 

He took Draco’s face in his hands and captured his gaze. “I’m all yours.”

Finis (?)


End file.
